


The Twelve Days of Macalaurë

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Carols, Christmas Gift Fic, Gen, Maglor is a huge hipster and his brothers are jerks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3070310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amrod and Amras enlist Celegorm to help them antagonise Maglor/spread Christmas cheer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Twelve Days of Macalaurë

“ _Jingle bells, Káno smells, la-la-la-la-la,  
_ _He’s a boring nerd, la-la, da-da-da-da-da-  
_ _…aaaaaargh!_ ”

There was a shriek of protest as the twins’ voices – artfully pitched so that Amras’ was just a shade higher that Amrod’s – were cut off, as a large cardboard box flew out of the window below which they had been singing, scattering waste paper all around them in the snow, though the voice that issued from the above was relatively flat and calm. “If you’re going to change the lyrics, at least make an effort to make them not awful.”

“Now Káno!” hollered Amrod, getting to his feet after his dive into the snow to avoid the falling paper, “That’s not nice.”

Amras was cackling. “We were only singing. I thought you  _liked_  music?”

Maglor’s face appeared at the second floor window. “You’re deliberately singing out of tune, out of time, and just below my window. You’ve been at it all afternoon, and I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up within…”

“Tut, tut, you shouldn’t swear” said Amras, shaking his head and trying to stifle his laughter with a hand. “What would Dad – auugh! Káno!”

Amrod had dragged him aside as another snowstorm of crumpled paper fell spiralling down on their heads.

They ran, laughing, but as soon as they rounded the corner of the house they were both barrelling into Celegorm, returning home from walking Huan.

Inevitably, they collided with him hard, sending the three of them sprawling into the snow, Celegorm yelling curses even as Huan bounded aside, yelping.

“You little shits” commented Celegorm, struggling to extricate himself from his squirming brothers even as the snow soaked into their clothes. “What are you even doing?”

“Running.”

“Escaping.”

Celegorm rolled his eyes, as Huan came over and licked his face cheerily. “From what?”

“Macalaurë.”

“We were only trying to spread some Christmas cheer, but he didn’t seem to be feeling that Christmassy.”

“Honestly, what a Scrooge.”

“He just started throwing stuff at us!”

Celegorm gave them a shrewd look. “Were you doing the stand-outside-his-window-and-sing-out-of-tune thing?”

Amras looked a little surprised. “Well yes, but - ”

“Inefficient” said Celegorm impatiently. “That method’s more suited to Moryo, who turns red like a baboon’s ass at the merest aggravating sound. You gotta be more creative if you want to antagonise Káno in the correct way. Annoying  _him_  is an art.” He smiled lovingly. “Getting him to throw crumpled up paper at you is for amateurs. Getting him to  _truly_  flip the fuck out, that takes a little more prep time. Worth it though.”

Amrod and Amras were looking at him in awe. “Teach us.”

Celegorm, on his feet now, gathered them both into his arms for a rib-cracking hug, as Huan barked at a squirrel. “My dear little brothers, it would be my  _honour_ to pass along my knowledge of this most noblest of arts.”

———

“Right” whispered Celegorm, as they stood in the hall outside Maglor’s room. “So, are we all warmed up?”

“Yep.”

“Do we remember the words?”

“I’ve got the lyrics here in case we forget.”

Celegorm nodded approvingly. “And are we ready to sing  _perfectly_  in tune?”

“The harmonies are okay.”

“We’ve got this.”

“Good. Then let’s begin.”

They took out their improvised song book, and the three of them began to sing.

“ _O come, all ye hipsters,_  
 _Come to see my brother,_  
 _He’s in a band and he wears green skinny jeans._  
 _Come and behold him,_  
 _Acting like a dickhead,_  
 _Annoying and pretentious,_  
 _His bullshit is quite endless,_  
 _So come along and save us,_  
 _From Macalaurë!_ ”

They fell silent, listening to the stillness on the other side of the door. Celegorm grinned at the twins. “We’ve got his attention!” he hissed. “Good going. Onwards and upwards.” They turned the page, and began singing again. 

_“On the first day of Christmas, my brother gave to me,_   
_A god-awful rock symphony._

_On the second day of Christmas my brother gave to me,_   
_Two burst eardrums,_   
_And a god-awful rock symphony._

_On the third day of Christmas, my brother gave to me,_   
_Three made-up girlfriends,_   
_Two burst eardrums_   
_And a god-awful rock symphony._

_On the fourth day of Christmas, my brother gave to me,_   
_Four wasted years,_   
_Three made-up girlfriends,_   
_Two burst eardrums,_   
_And a god-awful rock symphony._

_On the fifth day of Christmas, my brother gave to me,_   
_Five loans from Dad!_   
_Four years wasted,_   
_Three made-up girlfriends,_   
_Two burst eardrums,_   
_And a god-awful rock symphony._

_On the sixth day of Christmas my brother gave to me,_   
_Six band split ups,_   
_Five loans from Dad!_   
_Four wasted years,_   
_Three made-up girlfriends,_   
_Two burst eardrums,_   
_And a god-awful rock symphony._

_On the seventh day of Christmas my brother gave to me,_   
_Seven affectations,_   
_Six band split ups,_   
_Five loans from Dad!_   
_Four wasted years,_   
_Three made-up girlfriends,_   
_Two burst eardrums,_   
_And a god-awful rock symphony._

_On the eighth day of Christmas my brother gave to me,_   
_Eight empty gigs,_   
_Seven affectations,_   
_Six band split ups,_   
_Five loans from Dad!_   
_Four wasted years,_   
_Three made-up girlfriends,_   
_Two burst eardrums,_   
_And a god-awful rock symphony._

_On the ninth day of Christmas, my brother gave to me_   
_Nine vintage jackets,_   
_Eight empty gigs,_   
_Seven affectations,_   
_Six band split ups,_   
_Five loans from Dad!_   
_Four wasted years,_   
_Three made-up girlfriends,_   
_Two burst eardrums,_   
_And a god-awful rock symphony._

_On the tenth day of Christmas my brother gave to me,_   
_Ten asshole friends,_   
_Nine vintage jackets,_   
_Eight empty gigs,_   
_Seven affectations,_   
_Six band split ups,_   
_Five loans from Dad!_   
_Four wasted years,_   
_Three made-up girlfriends,_   
_Two burst eardrums,_   
_And a god-awful rock symphony._

_On the eleventh day of Christmas my brother gave to me,_   
_Eleven dumb haircuts,_   
_Ten asshole friends,_   
_Nine vintage jackets,_   
_Eight empty gigs,_   
_Seven affectations,_   
_Six band split ups,_   
_Five loans from Dad!_   
_Four wasted years,_   
_Three made-up girlfriends,_   
_Two burst eardrums,_   
_And a god-awful rock symphony._

_On the twelfth day of Christmas my brother gave to me,_   
_Twelve stupid lyrics,_   
_Eleven dumb haircuts,_   
_Ten asshole friends,_   
_Nine vintage jackets,_   
_Eight empty gigs,_   
_Seven affectations,_   
_Six band split ups,_   
_Five loans from Dad!_   
_Four wasted years,_   
_Three made-up girlfriends,_   
_Two burst eardrums,_   
_And a god-awful - ”_

At that moment the door burst open, and there was Macalaurë in the doorway, looking furious, though the effect was slightly lessened by the flashing LED Santa Claus sweater he was wearing. “First of all, it’s not a rock  _symphony_ , it’s a rock  _opera_. God. Second, I have almost paid back all of Dad’s money now, I’ll have you three little dumbshits know. And my hair is wonderful, thank you very much.” He folded his arms and flicked his fringe out of his eyes. “Oh, and only one of the girlfriends was made up. And that was in  _high school_.” He glared at them. “I could go on and refute every line of your grim little excuse for a mocking song, but it was so unmemorable that I can’t remember what you said, and the lyrics so clunky that it hurts my brain just to try.  _Merry fucking Christmas_.”

And with that he slammed the door in their faces.

After a moment, they heard the strains of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on the synthesiser coming defiantly through the door.

“Well” said Celegorm after a moment. “Congratulations, kids. We got him good today.”

"Wasn’t that… kind of mean?" asked Amrod, belatedly. 

"Nah" said Celegorm, shuddering. "You should have seen the one he wrote about me last year."


End file.
